The Untold Story
by samyuol
Summary: of how the grouchy black haired asshole fell in love with the northern irish cow.
1. Chapter 1

It was a couple weeks before anyone actually spoke to you at all.

And you weren't planning it, either. You didn't set out to talk to anyone today, you weren't going to attempt to any time soon, and it's a miracle someone actually bothered.

When she did arrive, knocking at your door, you ignored the call in favour of continuing with your work. Okay, maybe it was a little influenced by your newfound reluctance to talk to people since your best friend left, but you wouldn't admit that out loud.

After about the seventh attempt by this persistent asshole, you grouchily push yourself up from the desk, hobbling over to the door and opening it angrily.

"What. The _fuck._ Do you want?" you deadpan, right into the face of Axel, who cringes back a bit at the sudden outburst.

"Calm down, curly, I just want to talk," she begins, and you roll your eyes as soon as she speaks, closing the door again. She shoves her foot in front of it, scowling.

"Look," you say. "I don't have time for your prissy problems, whatever they may be. So leave me the fuck alone and go back to the dog shed or wherever the thieves stay."

"Stop acting like a greasy hermit and let me in!" she demands, and you take a moment of fake contemplation before trying to push the door closed again.

She just pushes back, too, and you end up stumbling onto your arse gracefully as she stands over you, giving you an unimpressed look.

"Don't pretend you're not lonely in here," she states, and you look up at her with a cold glare. After a few moments of tense silence, she holds out a hand.

You take it (only because you have to, not because you wanted to) and heave yourself up, moving back to slouch into your chair. "Fine. What is it?"

She sits on your bed, the springs creaking in protest. "It's about him."

"What about him?"

"You have to know why he left. You _must._"

You glance round at her at that, snorting and then turning your attention back to the project: seeing how big of an ammo magazine you can fit on the hidden gun without making it obvious. "And what makes you think he told me?"

She stays quiet for a second before continuing, and you can hear her fiddling around, nervously. "You were close to him. Nobody else knows, Robinson-"

"Leo."

"What?"

"My name's Leo," you tell her, not looking up from the work. "I'm not talking if you patronise me."

She frowns, folding her arms. "Alright, _Leo, _then. Didn't he say anything?"

"Even if I knew, I wouldn't tell you."

She groans and stands up, putting her hands on her hips. "What is your problem? Did I do something to you?"  
"Let's rewind to about two minutes ago, shall we? When you barged into my room uninvited?"

You were just winding her up at this point, and it worked, she walks up and spins your chair round to make you face her. "You didn't answer me."

"He didn't mention anything, okay?" you say, looking impatient. "You're his girlfriend, didn't he tell you anything?"

She seems to falter at that, pulling back tentatively and then scowling in defence again. "Whatever. Why are you suddenly holing up in here after he left?"

You furrow your brow, poking her in the stomach with the tip of your pliers. "Why do you care?"

She swats the tool away, pettily. "Because we're both on the same page."

You spin on your chair again. "And what page is that?"

"The page where we want to get Sam back." she mumbles, and you pause, putting down the various parts of metal you were tweaking.

"It's not my-"

"You're the only other person he really talked to, you have to help me..." she says, softly. "Please."

You rub your temples, grouchily, and then fold your arms. "Do you think I would be sitting here on my own like a 'greasy hermit' if I thought I had a chance of finding him?"

She rubs her arm absently, not looking at you anymore. You take the opportunity to size her up. Come to think of it, for the whole time she's been here, you'd only seen her briefly at a time; and each time she's been tense. Distant.

She's pretty, you can't deny it – her hair is a shade of red just above auburn, matched by pale skin and an accent which could be endearing if she didn't always speak with an intimidating undertone. She's, what, a year younger than you? Yet you've only just caught her up on height (barely), and she's filled out her body well enough, though she still has a way to go.

You can see how Sam was attracted to her. Wait, no. You're not meant to be thinking that at all. Jesus, are you already stooping as low as to start fancying your best friend's chick?

"Leo?" she calls, you snapping your attention back to her face.

"Hm?"

"I said, you shouldn't be in here alone anyway," she comments, getting up again to pluck a paper cup from your bedside. "When's the last time you ate?"

"Two projects ago."

"This cup has mould in it."

You get up and snatch it from her, dropping in into the bin. "I'm _fine. _Better than ever."

"Well, then," she coos. "Tell me what day it is."

You pout a little, as if it were an unfair question. "Seventeenth?"

"It's the twenty second, Leo."

"Only five days off, I think that's pretty good."

At that comment, you see her patience tick, and she moves over, grabbing you by the front of your shirt.

If she wasn't basically throwing you into your small bathroom at the moment, you could have found that a little attractive. But the thought is quickly eradicated when a towel hits your over the head, her slamming the door once you're in.

"Take a fucking shower, you can only come out when you're clean!" she says, the words muffled but stern. You shove the door as well as you can while balancing on your good leg.

"What the hell?!" you spit, hearing the lock click and seeing she managed to snatch the key.

"We're going to eat! I'm not taking you out if you smell like two week's worth of project sweat!"

You groan like a reluctant teenager, hitting the door for good measure before you start undressing.

As much as you want to hate this trip, you actually are quite hungry.

After scrubbing down as briefly as you could and throwing on whichever clothes you had which weren't dirty, you headed out with her. The café you arrive at is almost empty save for some tourists trying out the tea.

You slide into the grimy booth and glance over the menu lazily, eventually abandoning it and asking for whatever Axel orders. She looks unimpressed.

"I don't get you," she mutters, stirring the tea as it gets served. "Sam talks about you a lot..."

You sip your bitter coffee, ignoring the slight sting of the heat. "He talks about you all the fucking time."

"What does he say?"

"He talks about how ugly you are and how he would much rather have a pet cat."

She laughs, unexpectedly, making you raise an eyebrow. You don't remember the last time you made a girl laugh. Or if you _ever _made a girl laugh.

"Ha-ha." she drawls, sarcastically. You can't help but let the corner of your mouth turn up in a smile. "Well, he tells me about how you nag like an old lady and that he's sick of your gay advances on him."

You scrunch up your napkin and throw it at her, watching her laugh again as she dodges it, childishly. The food arrives and you find out she'd ordered the generic shepherd's pie, and also that she likes to play with her food; sculpting the potatoes into various shapes.

"Your artistic ability blows me away." you say, eying her work. She puts a finger over her lips as if to shush you.

"Wait, here... And... Look, I made you!" she beams, presenting to you a drawing of a smiley face in her mash with two peas for eyes. When you roll your eyes, she gasps and picks up her fork again. "Oh, I almost forgot!"

With one swift pull, she turns the smiling mouth into a frown that barely fits in the outline for the face, and you snort. "Wow. I'm flattered."

She grins before scraping the entire thing up on her fork and eating it, prompting you to eat as well.

It's a basic meal, and, though you'd never admit it, you kind of enjoyed having it with her.


	2. Chapter 2

After that night, she went out of her way to see you every day. You tried staying in the guide office, in the library; anywhere. Yet, she always seemed to find you.

She'd bring you things, as well. Sometimes she'd make morning visits with coffee, which you'd complain about but actually enjoyed. And if she visited later, she tried to bring you food. Some days she just arrived with things to show you or tales to tell you.

What's important is that she visited every day. And now you're sitting alone in your room watching the clock tick over to almost eleven at night, wondering why you hadn't had a knock on your door yet.

Then you rub your eyes, shaking away the thought. So, she missed a day. Big deal. She has other things to attend to, and it's not as if she ever specifically _said _she was going to visit every day.

And why do you even care? She's just Sam's stupid girlfriend. You don't need to be worrying about her. Why, you don't care if she happened to get terribly injured today and died. No, you would not give a single damn about it.

... So why did you wince at the prospect? Probably just a muscle twitch. Mmn.

After that moment of contemplation, you heave yourself up off the bed, grabbing your goddamn walking stick and limping your way out of the guides' precinct, down the (fucking awful) stairs, and into the thieves' quarters.

It's disgusting down here, and you don't think there's another way to say it. The common room is stained with the smell of smoke and drugs, awkwardly covered up with disinfectant. You can feel the few thieves in here eying up your back pocket, but you've been here long enough to know you should leave your pockets empty when you're within a ten meter radius of this place.

It doesn't take much asking around to find her room ("You mean the ginger bitch? Yeah, two doors on the left"), and you try the handle, finding it locked. You sigh and wonder why you're putting so much effort into this.

"Hey, Axel, you in there?" you call, hearing a half-assed ground sound from the other side. You pound at the door with your fist. "Who's the greasy hermit now?"

Eventually, the lock clicks and she opens the door for you. You open your mouth to make a comment about her lack of enthusiasm, but it stops when you see her.

She's in quite a state; her hair is tied up messily and her eyes are tinged red with tears. The sleeves of her shirt are soaked from them.

"I'm sorry, Leo, I'm not... Feeling so good." she mumbles. You shoulder the door open enough to get through, trudging past her.

"I can see that," you say. "Gonna tell me why, or...?"

She walks over and slumps down to sit next to you, leaning her elbows on her leg and her face in her hands. You would feel sympathy for her, if you actually cared about her at all. As aforementioned, you don't. So it's not a problem.

"He's never coming back, is he?" she says, ending it like a statement instead of a question. You watch her as she sits there, unsure of what to say.

"Axel,"

"Don't even try to comfort me," she interrupts, harshly. "Doll tried, Wayne tried, and I don't care. Nothing you say will make it better."

You look at her sceptically, shrugging. "Fine."

"What?" she says, turning to look at you. She looks genuinely surprised.

"I said, fine. I'm not going to say anything."

She pales a bit at your response, sitting up slightly as she talks. "You're not even going to ask if I'm okay? Just... _fine_?"

"I get what it's like to not want sympathy," you sigh, readjusting your walking stick to lean against the bed. She doesn't seem to have anything to say to that, looking away again.

After a few moments of comfortable silence, she sniffles again. She cries quietly, you think; doesn't do all that loud sobbing shit, just sniffles every once in a while scrubbing away tears. When you shuffle over and put your arms around her, she pauses as if to hesitate before returning the gesture.

She seems frail even in your arms, which are about as skinny as twigs. You're not hugging her, right now. Of course not. No, you're simply slapping some sense into her. With both your hands. On her back. Gently.

"I didn't know you had it in you, curly," she says, against your shoulder.

"Had what in me?"

She shifts a little, but doesn't let go. "Kindness."

When she lets go, you see that her tears have been left on the seam of your shirt.

A few days later, you return to your room after working up in the bureau to find a simple plastic shopping bag on your bed. Which is strange, because Axel already brought you a coffee this morning.

You walk over to it, picking it up and plopping it on your desk as you sit down. The first thing you see inside is a note, which you pluck out and read dutifully.

"Leo,

i got you a new shirt because i cryed on your last one!

Love, Axel"

It's written in extremely childish handwriting, and a few words have been crossed out and written again. You chuckle to yourself before emptying the rest of the bag onto your desk.

It's a simple t-shirt in maroon red, which you're glad for. She bought a size medium, which you know will be a little (a lot) loose on you, but wearable. Once you unfold it, you can see that the front is emblazoned by a black print of the Greek letter pi. You're pretty sure she doesn't even know what that means, and probably just saw it and bought it knowing you're good at maths.

It's not the perfect gift, but you shrug off your current shirt and try it on. It fits, barely, and feels strangely new compared to the feeling of your other worn out clothes.

Whatever, right? Because you still don't care about her, and you especially do not care about a petty shirt she's given you.

You definitely do _not _wear it for the rest of the day, or sleep in it. That's completely absurd.


End file.
